


For a Glorious Grave

by nodeadhotspurjokes



Category: Henry VI Part 2 - Shakespeare
Genre: A lot more angsty than I had intended, Angry brothers being angry, Gen, Giving York's lines to people that aren't York, Shakespeare, This is my first completed fanfiction I'm sorry, York Family Bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nodeadhotspurjokes/pseuds/nodeadhotspurjokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York is plotting against the King. His sons are little help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Glorious Grave

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally made for lessthansix on tumblr for the Bard's Birthday Exchange. It's probably not surprising that it's my first completed fanfiction of anything. (So I just want to apologize because I know it's not the best in the world.)
> 
> Obviously, I don't own any of these characters and York's monologue (that I also gave to Richard and Edward) is also written by William Shakespeare. I don't exactly know how all of it works, so I just thought I'd put that out there.

York knows that he’s the rightful king of England. He wants the crown so badly he can almost reach out and yank it from Henry’s head. Word on the streets and among the castle is that he’s a traitor. He prefers the term ambitious. He has more sense and zeal than all of the Henries combined. Soon, he thinks. Soon the crown will belong to him, and he’ll rule over England. No longer will they whisper behind closed doors, but they will chant, “Long live Richard! God save the King!”

He smirks at the thought of Somerset on his knees, wearing a white rose, and serving him. That is, if he lets Somerset live.

His thoughts are interrupted by his oldest son, Edward, emerging from behind a corner. York’s head snaps around, and pulls Edward harshly by the arm. Edward quickly jerks from York’s grasp and adjusts the cuff of his jacket.

"Father,” he hisses. “are you going to let these fools squabble about, while you keep silent like a  _coward_?" 

The silhouette of York’s other son, Richard comes into view. "I agree, Brother.” he says, limping out of the shadows. “Why have you not yet taken action?" 

"The time is not here.” York sneers.

Richard growls. “I could have been at their throats by now." 

Edward jabs his elbow into Richard’s side. "So could I.”

“You are both just foolish as the King Lancaster." 

 "Lancaster!” Richard says. “I would have Lancaster’s head and mount it on my gate.”

“Fool!” York barks, startling some doves on the ground. His voice is so low, it’s nearly a whisper. “ _I_ will kill Lancaster, and  _I will be king_." 

 "And how do you plan to do that, Father?” Edward jeers. His imbecile father has waited far too long. Richard snickers. York takes a deep breath and grabs the collar of Edward’s shirt. Richard no longer laughs as Edward frantically tries to squirm out of York’s grasp. York’s gaze has hardened. 

 "Anjou and Maine are given to the French;  
Paris is lost; the state of Normandy  
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:” He releases the grip on his son. “ Suffolk concluded on the articles,  
The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased  
To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter.” He pauses. “ I cannot blame them all: what is’t to them?  
‘Tis thine they give away, and not their own.” Edward and Richard exchange looks. Their father seems to have forgotten they’re there. York turns around, clutching his own wrist.

“Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage  
And purchase friends and give to courtesans," 

 "He’s gone mad.” Edward whispers. Richard is silent. 

 "Still reveling like lords till all be gone–“ 

 "While as the silly owner of the goods  
Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands  
And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,  
While all is shared and all is borne away,  
Ready to starve and dare not touch his own.“ Edward says in his mocking tone. "So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,  
While his own lands are bargain’d for and sold.” Richard laughs. 

York looks like he’s willing to kill more than just Henry, now. His eyes are burning holes through Richard’s skull. Edward flinches.

“Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland  
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood  
As did the fatal brand Althaea burn’d  
Unto the prince’s heart of Calydon.” York mumbles. He paces back and forth now. Edward looks worried, but Richard does not move.

“Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!  
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,  
Even as I have of fertile England’s soil.  
A day will come when York shall claim his own;  
And therefore I will take the Nevils’ parts  
And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,  
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,  
For that’s the golden mark I seek to hit:  
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right–” 

“Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,  
Nor wear the diadem upon his head,  
Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. “ Edward seethes. York nods firmly and leaves the small gathering, with Edward trailing close behind. 

Richard props himself up against a wall and watches them put on their disguises once again. He has a twisted smile on his face. He knows what happens to people who are ambitious. It’s happened far too often. His father doesn’t have much time left. For Edward, he’ll be easy to dispose of. None of his siblings stand a chance, unfortunately. It’s adorable how they think they do, though. Richard chuckles, and takes the white rose from his jacket pocket. 

“Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:  
Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,  
To pry into the secrets of the state;  
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,  
With his new bride and England’s dear-bought queen,  
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars.” Richard pauses, and a laugh escapes his lips. 

“Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,  
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;  
And in my standard bear the arms of York  
To grapple with the house of Lancaster;  
And, force perforce,” he drums his fingers, contemplating his victory. 

“I’ll make him yield the crown,  
Whose bookish rule hath pull’d fair England down.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've ever completed. I'm hoping to get a lot better. If you read this all the way through, I want to thank you so much. It really means a lot to me. :)


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